The Halfling of the West - Pippin's Journal
by bekfast-time
Summary: The story of Lord of the Rings is retold through the eyes of my personal favorite hobbit- Peregrin Took. Originally a project in my language class, I've decided to share my interpretation of this timeless tale with the world.


**The Halfling of the West**

 **A Hobbit's Tale by Peregrin Took**

 **September 27, 1418**

My name is Peregrin Took, but I am most widely known simply as Pippin. I am a hobbit from the Shire, our homeland. My family inhabits the Tooklands, and we are among the more adventurous and proud families of hobbits. Allow me to give you a brief description of our people, as many to the East do not even know of our existence. Hobbits are a short people, usually no more than three to four feet. We have curly hair, tan skin, and we tend to be a bit fat. Hobbits have a love for food, farming, and storytelling. We never do anything too unexpected or out of the ordinary. But, this has changed for my friends and I. We have just recently started an adventure, one that is very perilous and will take us far from home, and I fear that we know all too little of what we are getting into. All the same, I'd rather not know too much. Anyways, I shall begin with a bit of backstory.

This tale starts seventy-eight years prior to today, in a hobbit home known as Bag End. The hobbit Bilbo Baggins is whisked away on a journey with the wizard Gandalf and twelve dwarves, including Thorin Oakenshield, the lost heir to the forgotten dwarf kingdom, Erebor. Their mission: travel to the Lonely Mountain, which is where Erebor is located, and take back their treasure and kingdom from the dragon Smaug, who stole the dwarves' treasure and destroyed their homes. The company traveled from the Shire to lands such as the Elf-Realm of Rivendell, the Misty Mountains, the Elf Kingdom in the forests of Mirkwood, and the Lake-Town of Men, Esgaroth. The mission was successful, and Bilbo found his sense of adventure during it. Another thing he found, though, was a magic golden ring, underground in the depths of the Misty Mountains. He took it from a wretched creature, known as Gollum. Bilbo found that the ring gave him invisibility when he wore it, and he kept it secret.

After returning home with a large sum of treasure, Bilbo and the rest of the Baggins became known as strange disturbers of the peace. Bilbo wrote many poems and stories, including a book about his adventures, and enlightened the hearts of many young hobbits, including my own, with stories. But, this didn't last forever. On Bilbo's 111th birthday, also called eleventy-one, he gave a strange speech during the party, and disappeared! There was quite the clamor, but it eventually died down into another tale of a hobbit gone mad. Bilbo actually used his ring to disappear, and then he left the Shire forever. He left his home, Bag End, to his nephew and good friend of mine, Frodo Baggins. In the eighteen years that followed, there was relative peace in the Shire.

However, that all changed when my best friend Merry Brandybuck and I learned of Frodo's plans to leave the Shire. We learned news from Frodo's gardener and friend, Samwise Gamgee, otherwise known as Sam. Frodo had been talking in secret with Gandalf, the wizard who accompanied Bilbo on his journey and a good friend of the Baggins'. Apparently, Bilbo left his ring to Frodo, and that ring is, in fact, one of the great Rings of Power. They were forged by Elven-smiths thousands of years ago, and Bilbo's ring is the One Ring. It is the most powerful, as well as the evilest, and it was forged by the Dark Lord Sauron in his land, Mordor. I dare not say more about that place. Bilbo didn't know all of this, of course, but it explains his lack of aging and his growing paranoia.

Frodo's plan was to leave the Shire and go to Rivendell, where the Ring may be safe. To lower suspicion, he sold Bag End and bought a house in Buckland, a region of the Shire where Merry's family has lived for ages. Sam and I were to be his escorts to his new home, and Frodo and Sam were to leave the Shire after arrival. Merry had ridden ahead with the furniture alongside the hobbit Fatty Bolger, and we would meet him there. However, Frodo didn't know that Merry, Fatty and I knew of his plans.

As we trotted down the Road, we were happy and hopeful, and we camped that night in relative peace. But, the next day, Frodo told us to get off the Road and hide. As we did so, a tall Man in a black cloak, hooded, rode up on a black horse. He stopped for a minute, and then pressed on, not seeing us. This was not the last we'd see of those Black Riders. Frodo wouldn't tell us what or who they were, but I suspected they had something to do with his Ring.

That day, we encountered a group of Elves, on their way to the Grey Havens, a mystical port to the West of the Shire, where they would sail away, leaving Middle-Earth forever. It was incredible to see Elves for the first time. They were so graceful and lovely, but sad and grim at the same time. We stayed the night at one of their great halls of trees, and their leader, Gildor, conversed with Frodo for a long time. About what, I'm not entirely sure. The following morning, we decided that taking the Road would be too dangerous, and we traversed across the country plains, making our way to the Brandywine River, where we would take the Bucklebury Ferry to Buckland.

As we passed the fields of Farmer Maggot, we were cornered by his dogs, and it was only my friendship with him that stopped him from siccing his dogs on us. We ate supper at his home, and he took us to the Bucklebury Ferry on his wagon. He told us of his encounter with a Black Rider that same day, and he said that it was looking for "Baggins". That's when I knew that they were after Frodo. We met with Merry at the Ferry, and we rode it across the Brandywine. On the other side, we saw a Black Rider standing across the River, and we quickly rushed to Frodo's new house.

After a marvelous bath and (second) supper, we told our tale to Merry and Fatty. Merry barely believed us, and then Frodo told us his news of leaving the Shire with Sam. However, he was quickly stunned himself when we told him of our knowledge of this. After a while of convincing, he finally gave in and allowed us to accompany him on his horribly dangerous adventure. This was no "Slay the Dragon" quest, it was for the fate of Middle-Earth, which I, myself, wasn't entirely ready to take on.

When we arose the next morning, we ate breakfast and got onto our ponies that Merry had provided for us. Fatty decided to stay behind and impersonate Frodo in an effort to distract the Black Riders. Frodo insisted we ride through the Old Forest in an attempt to throw the riders off our trail, much to our objection. The trees of the Old Forest are rumored to be alive, and they're not fond of strangers. Regardless, we entered the dreaded forest with our ponies. It didn't take too long for us to get lost, as the paths and layout change randomly, just to entangle travelers.

After wandering for a good while, we came upon a great willow tree. Seeing that we were understandably exhausted, we suddenly walked towards the tree and fell asleep. I think Sam resisted the urge, and as a result, he saved Frodo from sleepwalking into the creek and being ensnared by tree roots. However, that didn't save me and Merry. I awoke to complete darkness, and it wasn't too long before I realized that I had been swallowed by the willow tree! Merry was inside the tree too, save for his feet, which were slowly being pushed inside. We screamed for help, and Frodo and Sam lit a fire to scare the tree into spitting us out. But, Merry and I swear we heard the tree exclaim, "Put the fire out, or you shall never see your friends again!"

By then, Frodo began calling for help, when all of a sudden, I heard the deep voice of a man singing. He sang a jolly tune, commanding the tree, which he called Old Man Willow, to set us free, and it did so, opening its mighty trunk and literally spitting us out. Our rescuer was a short man with a big brown beard and a top hat. He wore a blue coat and yellow boots and introduced himself as Tom Bombadil. He sang and danced as he led us to his house, in a valley near the forest and the Withywindle River. His wife is a beautiful Elf, named Goldberry the River-daughter, and her voice is like silk. We ate a merry dinner with the two and spent the night. We plan on staying a second night, and we've spent all day conversing with Tom.

I believe all of my companions and I are confused as to who Mr. Bombadil is. Goldberry simply says, "He is,". Tom says he is Eldest, and he was here before the Elves arrived in Middle-Earth, which was at the beginning of days. He is the Master of the water, wood, and hill. Still, what is he? I don't suspect I'll ever know, but we must continue on anyways. We leave tomorrow for Bree, the village of Men and hobbits, and the chief village of Bree-land. Perhaps we'll meet with Gandalf there, I think Frodo fears the worst.

 **September 29, 1418**

We left Tom's home yesterday morning, and he taught us a rhyme for when we need his aid while we are still in his lands. It goes like this:

 _Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!_

 _By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,_

 _By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!_

 _Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!_

We pressed on, and we came upon the Barrow-downs, a region of rolling hills, covered with ruins of old tombs and structures from the kingdoms of Man long ago. The fog was thick, and it wasn't long before we were all separated from each other, and my bones chill as I recall the voice. It was shrill and cold, like a blizzard wind, and as it spoke a dark shadow overcame me, and I blacked out.

I awoke beside Merry and Sam, and Frodo and Tom were standing over me. Merry, Sam and I were wearing white robes, and we had circlets on our heads. Apparently, we had been overtaken by a Barrow-wight, spirits of Men that inhabit the Barrow-downs, and Frodo had struck the wight with a sword, and then called upon Tom with the rhyme. Tom cast out the Barrow-wight and woke us up with the power of song. After changing into our hobbit clothes and receiving daggers (long enough to be a sword for a hobbit) from Tom, we bade him farewell and made our way to Bree. Tom also gave us another pony, his own, in fact, named Fatty Lumpkin. He's a good beast, and the other ponies seem to hold him in high regard.

Frodo stopped us before we reached the gates of Bree, clarifying to us that the name Baggins must NOT be mentioned, and he is Mr. Underhill if anyone asks. We agreed, understanding the peril we are all in. After being let into Bree by a skeptical gatekeeper who mentioned strange folk about, we made for the large inn in the village, _The Prancing Pony_ , a place of commerce for travelers and townspeople alike. The innkeeper, a fat man with a red face named Barliman Butterbur, was very gracious to us and gave us hobbit-sized rooms for the night. We had our fair share of merrymaking and drinking in the common room and entertained the likes of Men, hobbits, and dwarves. However, Merry had decided to stay in the parlor, too tired for a bit of fun. Ridiculous, I know, but it almost ended with great harm, or worse, I fear.

With this, I must admit that I drank too much and got too carried away with my storytelling. The others say it's because of my immaturity and age, as I'm the only hobbit in the group who hasn't "come of age" yet. I'm only twenty-eight, and hobbits come of age at the good age of thirty-three. As a result, I began to tell the patrons of the inn the tale of Mr. Bilbo's birthday party. Now, admittedly, I probably would've mentioned the Ring if Frodo quickly jumped onto a table and began singing one of Bilbo's songs, those of which we've sung throughout our journey. The people loved it, and as Frodo began to sing it again, he dove onto a table and...well, he disappeared. Obviously, he had put on the Ring, but the people there, staring dumbfounded, didn't know that.

Amid the ensuing clamor, Frodo slipped away, and after apologizing to a confused Butterbur, led Sam and me to our inn room. To mine and Sam's surprise, there was a strange man in there, as well. He was tall, with a strong, but fair appearance. He had long brown hair that was brushed behind his ears and a touch of gray in it. His steel eyes pierced us, and he wore a dark green cloak. Frodo introduced him as Strider, a Ranger. Apparently, Rangers are wandering Men from the North, but not much else was known about them. Strider said he knew of our task, and that he overheard Frodo saying that Baggins mustn't be mentioned. He had been looking for a Baggins, but he was no friend of the Enemy's or the Black Riders.

Sam and Frodo didn't seem to trust him, Sam especially, but I thought he was quite the spectacle and a potential ally. Around this time, Butterbur arrived, and as he expressed his distaste for Strider, he gave Frodo a note that he received from Gandalf months ago to send to the Shire and forgot about. The note told Frodo to leave the Shire before summer ended, whether Gandalf arrives or not, and to stay at the _Pony_ in Bree. It also read that Strider would help us, as he was actually a friend of Gandalf's named Aragorn. Butterbur was clearly frightened that Gandalf would melt him into butter for not remembering earlier. After thanking him, Frodo agreed to allow Strider (Aragorn) to be our guide to Rivendell, the realm of Elrond, the Elf-Lord. Strider spoke a rhyme that was on the note, although he hadn't read it himself, which said:

 _All this is gold does not glitter,_

 _Not all those who wander are lost;_

 _The old that is strong does not wither,_

 _Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

 _From the ashes a small fire shall be woken,_

 _A light from the shadows shall spring;_

 _Renewed shall be blade that was broken,_

 _The crownless again shall be king._

What it meant, I'm not sure, but it certainly was beautiful. Meanwhile, Merry had arrived, distressed and shaken. Nob, a hobbit that works for Butterbur, was sent to look for Merry, who had gone for a walk, and found him being overtaken by two black men, the Black Riders. They disappeared, and the two hobbits ran for the _Pony_. Strider was disturbed by this, and he bade us sleep in the parlor, huddled together, as he stood guard. Sam, still skeptical, asked Strider questions such as, "What if you just killed the real Strider, and took his clothes?" Strider, obviously annoyed by this, suddenly threw back his cloak, revealing a sword in his belt, and looked much more regal.

He spoke proudly, "If I had killed the real Strider, I could kill you. And I should have killed you already without so much talk. If I was after the Ring, I could have it - NOW!"

He threw back his cloak and laid his hand on the hilt of a sword he had concealed. We did not dare to move. Sam stared at him, mouth wide open.

"But I am the real Strider, fortunately," he said. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn; and if by life or death I can save you, I will."

October 24th, 1418

I am relieved to say we have finally reached Rivendell, and this may, at last, mark the end of our journey. However, we haven't reached here unscathed. We left Bree on the 30th of September, later in the morning than expected, due to a delay. The Black Riders had let loose all the ponies the night before, but we managed to buy an old, rough pony from a potential spy of the Enemy, Bill Ferny. It was all we could do. The pony carried much of our stuff, and we traversed the wilderness with Strider as our guide, who claims to know all the lands from the Shire to the Misty Mountains. I do not doubt him on that. We veered off the Road near the village of Archet and spent two days crossing the vile Midgewater Marshes, tortured by flies. It was hard traveling with Strider. We moved swiftly all day, and he hasn't even heard of second breakfast!

After crossing the marshes, we made for Weathertop, a hill that once held the fortress of Amun Sûl, built by King Elendil for the kingdom of Arnor. Now, it just holds the collapsing foundation of the once grand tower. On the western flank of the hill, Strider left Sam and me to watch the pony as the other three climbed up the thousand foot high hill from a path on the north side. Sam and I discovered some footprints and the hasty leftovers of a camp and firewood. Sam wondered if Gandalf had been here, and I also believed it could've been the old wizard. Unfortunately, we had accidentally trampled the footprints, so Strider couldn't determine exactly how old they were or who they were from. The three had found a rune on the top of Weathertop, possibly from Gandalf.

As we made camp that night, we were all on edge. Merry had spotted some dark figures in the distance from the top of the hill, and I, personally, was waiting for a cold blade to appear near my throat. Strider, thanks to our persistence, told us the tale of Beren and Lúthien, the greatest love between a Man and an Elf. However, with our guard lowered, we were ambushed on the top of Weathertop by five Black Riders, the one in the center was the tallest of them all. As ashamed as I am to say it, Merry and I ducked and hid, scared out of our feet hair. Frodo had put on the Ring, and beheld the Riders in their true form, before being stabbed in the shoulder by the tallest one. Strider then drove them off with flaming sticks, as they are subject to flames

Frodo became ill and weak, and although Strider tended the wound with the best of his abilities, I believe it only eased his pain. We traveled towards Rivendell with great haste, and on the way, we actually found the trolls that were turned to stone on Bilbo's adventure ages ago! Six days ago, we encountered Glorfindel, an Elf-Lord from Rivendell who was sent out to find us. He had driven away some Black Riders a few days before we met with him, but they were to regroup soon. He tried his own attempt to help Frodo's wound, who had now become very ill. We traveled even more fast and restless with Glorfindel leading. On the 20th, we were ambushed by all nine of the Riders! I was terrified, and thought for sure that Frodo would be captured, or worse! Glorfindel cried for Frodo, who had been riding on the Elf's horse, to escape. His horse flew like a storm's gusts, carrying Frodo with him. The Nine Riders attempted to cut them off, but Glorfindel's horse was too quick.

As Frodo crossed the Ford of Bruinen, the river that is the gateway to Rivendell, a mighty roar came up through the Ford, and out of nowhere, a mighty rushing wall of water, with what seemed to be horses and riders of foam, ran through the Ford and took the Riders with it! After that, Frodo fell unconscious. Gandalf and Elrond, the master of Rivendell, appeared with other elves, and they took Frodo with us to the elven valley.

It took a few days before Frodo even awoke, despite Elrond healing his wound to the best of his abilities. Sam never left Frodo's side, but Merry and I had quite the glorious time exploring Rivendell. So many stories, songs, and places to discover! It's such a beautiful place. Frodo had the past few days explained to him by Gandalf, and then we held a feast in Elrond's hall! I ate to my heart's (and my stomach's) content, I'm sure of it! Mr. Bilbo wasn't there, but rather sleeping in the Hall of Fire with his books and journals! We all gathered there after eating and heard many songs and tales. After Strider helped Bilbo with his song, the old hobbit sang it to the elves' delight. It was the tale of Eärendil, a seafaring Man of old. Bilbo and Frodo then retired to his lodgings, and soon many of us went to bed as well.

I overheard that there will be a secret council tomorrow. Merry, Sam, and I aren't invited, which is absolutely preposterous. We deserve the same treatment as them all, since we are involved in this quest...journey...thing! Either way, I do miss the Shire, and now that the Ring is in Rivendell, we might get to go home soon after all.

 **January 15, 1419**

My, my, it's been forever since I've written an entry, hasn't it? Well, I last said that I may go home soon. It appears that I am wrong. At the council, Men, Elves, Dwarves, and Bilbo and Frodo the hobbits discussed the Ring. Gandalf told his story about his absence. Apparently, he had been captured by the head of his order, Saruman the White, who has risen an army of Orcs, and is allied is the Enemy. He escaped, and rode the Shire, and retraced our steps. It was decided that Frodo would take the Ring to Mordor to be destroyed. A fellowship of sorts was to be made to accompany him. Merry and I nearly weren't included, but of course, they needed someone of intelligence on the quest, so I was picked with my best friend.

The nine chosen for the journey were: Frodo, Sam, Merry, myself, Gandalf, Strider (Aragorn), Gimli the Dwarf, Legolas the Elf, and Boromir the Man. Boromir is a bold warrior, and the son of the Lord of Gondor, the great kingdom of Man to the Southeast. It's the only thing keeping the forces of Mordor at bay, or so Boromir says. I think he's a proud and noble Man if I do say so. Anyways, we set out from Rivendell on December 25, and spent weeks in the miserable cold, traveling south. Strider was looking particularly proud at the start of the quest, as he had reforged the sword of his ancestor, King Elendil, and named it Andúril. I think it's a symbol of his royalty.

The decision was made to take the Pass of Caradhras, a mountain road over the Misty Mountains. However, that dreadful mountain didn't take kindly to us marching over it. The weather was horrible, and my fellow hobbits and I were nearly swallowed by the snow. After much hardship for a few days, we were forced to turn back. Gandalf and Strider did much debate, but they made the decision to go to the Mines of Moria, which I heard was once the center of the Dwarf-kingdom. Balin, a member of BIlbo's adventure party long ago, had made the expedition to retake Moria thirty years ago, but contact was lost with him. Gimli insisted that it is the best decision, and he believed that Balin may be alive, and I hoped so as well.

We eventually came to a lake on the cliffsides of the mountains, and a flat wall of stone on the side of a cliff. It had a marvelous design on it, with stars and trees that represented things of ancient Elves and Dwarves, I think. Gandalf ended up having quite the plight of guessing the password to open the door. The door said something like: _speak, friend, and enter_. Merry questioned Gandalf's context of the words, and eventually, it proved right. See, Gandalf and Gimli thought that you spoke a password if you were a friend. But, it turned out you actually spoke the Elvish word for "friend", _mellon_!

Before we could even enter the Mines all together, a dreadful tentacle arm grabbed Frodo from the water! We fought the ever-growing arms until it let go of him, and we ran into the Mines, only to have the entrance collapse. I was dreadfully frightened, and not for the last time did I wish to be back in the Tookland. We traversed the dark tunnels for several days until we came upon a large, open room. It was once the city of Dwarrowdelf. At one point, it must've been beautiful, if the song Gimli sang then was true.

We came upon a room filled with skeletons of orcs and dwarves. The tomb of Balin, one of Bilbo's companions from his adventure and the Lord of Moria, was in the center of the room. Gimli was heartbroken, and his rage built once we heard the sound of many orcs, as well as an ominous, rhythmic drum beat. We were soon attacked by the orcs, and I was able to slay two. I would be more excited about that if the circumstances were different.

Gandalf had us retreat down a flight of stairs, and he stayed behind to cast a door spell. He was overtaken by something, and he fell down the stairs. After a short rest, we traveled on. Soon we were ambushed once again, and this time we saw a horrific sight: a large figure that is both a shadow and some form of man, but evil and demonic. Legolas and Gandalf called it a Balrog, an ancient demon. As we crossed the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, Gandalf stayed on it to battle the beast. He ordered it to not pass, and cast his staff down onto the bridge, destroying both his staff and the bridge. The Balrog drug Gandalf down with him, and now...now he's gone.

As morbid and sorrowful we were and are, we had to escape. After we found the exit, we quickly got out of sight of the Mines. We are resting now, and soon we'll continue on to the woods of Lothlórien, a realm of Elves that is ruled by an ancient Elf Sorceress, apparently too beautiful for this world. I would much like to abide in her house for a while until our grief is gone. But, how are we to continue on without Gandalf? Yes, he was the hardest on me, due to my naivety and immaturity, but I was fond of our wizard. So, what shall we do now? Are we to go to Mordor as Gandalf planned, or are we to go to the city of Minas Tirith, and join in the defense of Gondor? It seems I should've just stayed home.

 **February 23, 1419**

We came to the woods of Lothlórien past a month ago now, I presume. We were led through the mystical forest by Haldir, an Elf who happened to know the Common Speech. We came to the city of Caras Galadhon, and never again will I call something beautiful, unless it comes from Lórien. The trees, the people, the colors, it was all too much for a hobbit to handle, I'm sure. Sam seemed very interested in the trees, Merry loved the water and the homes, and Frodo...Frodo seemed in a trance. I worry about him, we all do. It's a burden, the Ring, I'm sure of it.

We came to the home of the Lord and Lady of Lórien, Celeborn and Galadriel. They were both very tall, without age, and very beautiful. Aragorn told our tale to the two, and after discussion, Galadriel encouraged us and sent us to where we would be sleeping. She used her magic, I know it, while she spoke. In each of our minds, she said something different. Offered us something in exchange for leaving the Fellowship. To me, she asked if I would like to see Tookland again, to ride amongst the trees of the Shire once more, to visit Bag End. It made me uncomfortable but in awe of her majesty. Boromir seemed the most troubled.

Boromir. Merry and I are fond of the Man, and he seems to take us into his liking, I think. He taught us how to use our swords correctly, and he protected us in Moria. As of late, he's seemed flustered, like how Sandyman looks when the Gaffer catches him in a lie back home. Merry seems to assume the worst, but I don't know what he means. It must be the journey getting to him. It's got to us all.

It seemed that we lingered there for an eternity, but also only a day. The evils of time don't affect Lórien, like waves crashing against a mighty fortress. Finally, the Lord and Lady provided us Elf boats for our journey down the Great River Anduin, as well as grey Elven cloaks and _lembas_ , Elf-cakes that will strengthen you for a day with a single cake. Our travels would take us down the Anduin, where we will cross into Rohan, the kingdom of the Horse-lords, and then the path would diverge. One way, to Mordor, the other, Gondor. We have yet to make our decision on our route. Frodo, although he's quiet during the debates, has given the impression to Merry that he shall go to Mordor, no matter what. Personally, I believe that Frodo's choice is his own, and I shall follow him to the Land of Fire if he so chooses.

We had a last meal on the shores of the Great River with the Lord and the Lady, and Galadriel gave us parting gifts. To Aragorn, a hilt for Andúril. To Boromir, a golden belt. For Gimli, three strands of her hair. Legolas, she gave a bow strung with Elf-hair. To Sam, a box filled with soil of Lórien. To Frodo, a crystal phial containing light from the Star of Eärendil. Finally, she gave Merry and I silver belts each. We said our goodbyes, and as Celeborn and she departed from view, she sang a song of Varda, a Valar.

For several days we've floated down the Anduin with a steady pace. Merry and I are seated with Boromir, who is as nervous as ever. He seems to stare in Frodo's direction, and he's talked more and more of the defense of Minas Tirith, and to head there. Earlier tonight we were ambushed by orcs, firing arrows at us from the bank. Legolas slew a few with the Bow of Galadriel, and suddenly we were overshadowed by a large flying black mass. Legolas shot at it, and it fell to the east.

We made camp, and once again, I wish I was home. Once again, I wonder why I am involved in this. Once again, I doubt myself. I'm but a foolish young hobbit, why am I on a journey to save the world? It's really unbelievable, and I'm a fool for thinking that I will return. All the same, I can't and won't abandon my friends now. Soon we'll reach the Entwash River, and soon we'll have to make our decision on our route. Should we go to the White City in Gondor, or to the Dark Land of Mordor?

 **March 2, 1419**

We came to camp on the 26th of February, and Aragorn told us that we must make a decision on our route. Frodo asked for an hour alone to think, and Aragorn granted it. He walked into the woods, alone. Soon we were aware of the absence of Boromir. Sam was suspicious, and soon Boromir walked out from the woods, grim and quiet. Aragorn questioned him, and he replied that he grew angry at Frodo for not wanting to go to Minas Tirith, and the frightened hobbit put on the Ring and escaped. Soon, the entire Fellowship was running to and fro, including Merry and I, looking for Frodo.

Merry and I ran into the forest, calling out for our friend. Soon, our calls were returned by the vile cries of orcs. It wasn't long before we were surrounded. Out of nowhere, Boromir appeared and slew many orcs. They grew afraid of the Man, the son of the Lord of Gondor. He blew the Horn of Gondor, and it rang throughout the forest. But, suddenly, Boromir was pierced by an arrow. Merry and I both wanted to help, but we were in shock. I couldn't move. To our surprise, Boromir stood up and killed four more orcs. Again, he was struck by another arrow, this one in his ribs. He fell to his knees, and then looked at us. He gave a look of compassion, sadness, and anger. His eyes held a flame. He rose up again to slay several more orcs. Before Merry and I could try and help, an arrow came flying into Boromir's torso. This time, he did not rise.

Enraged and shocked, I looked at Merry, and he nodded in approval. We charged the orcs with our swords, only to be overcome by their obvious advantage in strength and size. They lifted us onto their shoulders and ran. The orcs rendezvoused with the others, and soon they were all gone. We heard them shouting curses about Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They ran on and on, carrying Merry and me, until they made camp. Our hands and feet were bound, and soon I had no choice but to sleep.

That night, I dreamt of Frodo. I saw him standing, and I called to him. But, all I could see around him were orcs. I was frightened, and I awoke with a start. I recalled Boromir's fall. The last I saw of him, he was pulling an arrow out of his own body. I doubt that he survived, and in my heart, I grieve heavily for the loss of a friend, though I fear what he was doing in the woods before the orcs attacked. Frodo seemed to have escaped, and no doubt Sam went with him. You'd need a power stronger than the One Ring to break those two apart.

I was laying in that camp with Merry, wallowing in my own sorrow and guilt. I believed that we caused Boromir to fall, and I'm sure Merry felt the same. I wish Gandalf and Elrond never let me come, as I feel like little more than a burden. Merry is at least intelligent and not so clumsy. Either way, there we were, and soon we would have to continue being carried as prisoners.

Apparently, there were various orc-tribes in the company that we were a part of. The main one was the Isengard orcs, the large ones under the command of Saruman the White, the traitor wizard. These orcs were called the "Fighting Uruk-Hai". There was unrest among the tribes and arguments and fights arose among the several days Merry and I were prisoner.

On one day, they halted and threw Merry and me to the ground. They gave us some form of orc-liquor, a warm vile liquid that energized us. Some orcs began to search us, including an Isengard orc named Grishnákh. Merry and I were able to figure out that they thought WE had the Ring, and we decided to play on their ignorance. We told Grishnákh that we will give up nothing until they untied us, but before they could do anything a rider appeared and killed Grishnákh. Horsemen had caught up with the orcs and ambushed them!

Since my hands had been secretly loosed by a dead orc's knife a few days before, I was able to untie my feet and then untie Merry's bindings. We escaped, and as we rested, I dropped the leaf brooch on my cloak from Lórien, so Aragorn and company, who were no doubt hunting our orc captors, would find it and know we were possibly alive. We ran into the woods afterward.

I dreamt that night that I was calling out to Frodo once again. As we were in the woods, I was glad to finally be able to openly converse with Merry once again. We don't complain much, being the proud hobbits we are, but I do miss relaxing with my friends in the Shire, especially good old Merry Brandybuck. We stopped to drink at the Entwash River, and we munched on some _lembas._ To our total shock, we were suddenly spoken to in a deep, gruff voice. It came from, get this, a fourteen-foot tall tree! No, sorry, not a tree, an Ent. The tree herders of Fangorn Forest.

After explaining our own race and names to the Ent, who calls himself Treebeard, he told us his story. He says he is the oldest creature in Middle-Earth, and that the Ents are now diminishing. The Ent-wives disappeared one day long ago, and so there are no young Ents. Treebeard says that many trees in Fangorn are actually just Ents who have fallen asleep, and they shall awaken once given the proper motivation. He offered to take us to his home, and give us food and drink. Of course, we very politely accepted, especially me, and on the way there he told us more of the wondrous Ents.

Before we arrived, Treebeard told us of his friend, the White Wizard. Of course, he wasn't talking about Saruman, and we had a hard time believing him when he said this, but Gandalf was alive! I don't know how, but Treebeard had just seen him four days prior. He was clothed in white, like Saruman, but he was very much Gandalf. That excited Merry and I, and we were eager to meet him soon.

At Treebeard's home, he gave us Ent-food, a lovely, nourishing liquid that we, admittedly, drank greedily. Treebeard told us about Saruman's evil, and how he has mutated a new breed of orcs (the Uruk-Hai) who do not fear the sun, unlike ordinary orcs. Treebeard agreed that there must be an alliance between Rohan, the Ents, and Aragorn and company against Saruman.

The following day, after a night's rest, Treebeard took us to the Entmoot, a gathering of the Ents. My good friend and I watched as out of the trees, Ents of all shapes and sizes walked up to Treebeard. It seemed to be some kind of dream, really wonderful. It reminded us that nearly all the free races of Middle-Earth have a bone to pick with Sauron and Saruman. The Ents began to talk in their language, which takes a very long time to say anything, but Merry and I knew they were discussing what has, sadly, become necessary: war. The orcs had begun cutting down trees in Fangorn, and it has angered the Ents.

As they spoke, Merry and I pondered on a march on Isengard. It's a land surrounded by towers of rocks: not easily passable for Ents. Little did we know that it would merely be a bump in the road for the wrath of the forest. As we waited, we were invited to the home of a friendly Ent named Bregalad, or Quickbeam. He told us more of the treachery of Saruman and his orcs, and as we discussed this our ears were filled with a mighty roar. A roar of anger. The Ents were calling for war.

At first, it seemed like my eyes were playing tricks. But soon it became real to me and Merry both. The trees - they were moving. The entire forest seemed to come alive. As we saw the Ents march our way, Bregalad marched next to Treebeard with us in tow. I pitied the foolish orcs, they've awakened an ancient people from slumber, and they were furious. Treebeard wasn't very optimistic about it, though. He wondered if the Ents were marching to their doom. Merry seemed to silently agree, but I was in so much wonder of the Ents, I believed it impossible. I was, somewhat, right.

 **March 5, 1419**

As we arrived at Isengard, the orcs all seemed to be in shock, but quickly attempted to defend the tower of Orthanc. The Ents were swift in tumbling down the rocks around Isengard, and soon they seized the dams and flooded the entire area. The orcs in the lower areas were completely destroyed. Saruman was besieged and kept inside Orthanc as the Ents celebrated.

Merry and I did our own form of celebrating, as we had found the storage of food at Isengard. Bread, cheese, meat, and best of all, pipeweed! I don't know if I had mentioned it before, but we hobbits are very fond of smoking pipeweed, and much of it in Middle-Earth comes from the Southfarthing region in the Shire. The Shire. I miss it. I miss the hills, the people, the food. My home. But, this isn't over yet. In over my head or not, I can't back out.

To our happiness, Merry and I saw a host of horsemen riding our way into Isengard. The group, among many Rohirrim (The Riders of Rohan), contained Théoden, King of Rohan, Gandalf, Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas! Merry approached them and formally (and humorously) welcomed them, and Théoden seemed very interested in us, as he had never seen hobbits before. After a brief and merry chat, Gandalf and Théoden left to meet with Treebeard, who has assumed control of Isengard.

Merry and I offered Gimli some of the fine pipeweed Saruman had hoarded, and since he didn't have a pipe, I graciously gave him my own. Although he was angry at us for worrying him and the other two "Hunters" (Aragorn, Legolas, and said dwarf) so much, he was grateful and happy to see us. We tell the group our tale, and in return we are given theirs. The Hunters had encountered the pile of dead orcs near Fangorn Forest, and they feared the worst. But, they reunited with Gandalf, who reassured them of our safety. Gandalf had killed the Balrog, but then died, only to be resurrected as Gandalf the White, a more powerful form. They rode to Edoras, the chief city of Rohan, and rallied Théoden and his armies. They marched to the fortress of Helm's Deep, where they held up with three thousand men. There they fought off ten thousand Uruk-Hai in the Battle of the Hornburg. Gandalf arrived with reinforcements, and a group rode to Isengard.

Gandalf and Théoden attempted to parley with Saruman, who was held up in Orthanc with his spy for Théoden's court, Gríma Wormtongue. Saruman nearly persuaded (and deceived) Théoden and his men, but Gandalf rebuked him and broke his staff with nothing but his words! Wormtongue then threw a spherical object from Orthanc to the ground, and, so very foolish of me, I picked it up. I became very curious of the object, only to have to give it up to Gandalf.

We rode off for Edoras, Merry riding with Gandalf and I with Aragorn. I asked Merry how Gandalf seems now that he's back, and he replied that Gandalf seems more happy, but also more serious. That night, Merry fell asleep early, but I couldn't sleep. I don't know why, but I was so curious about what that sphere object was, it was driving me crazy.

Much to my own disapproval, I sneaked over to Gandalf, who was asleep, and I carefully took the sphere from him. Stupidly, I looked into it. I gasped as I saw a black, shadowy figure, flying towards me. I grow more and more frightened, but I can't look away. My fear reaches its peak as I see a dark, evil figure in the sphere. I saw, I saw _him_. Sauron. He spoke to me.

"So you have come back? Why have you neglected to report for so long?"

I did not answer. He said: "Who are you?" I still did not answer, but it hurt me horribly; and he pressed me, so I said: "A hobbit."

Then suddenly he seemed to see me, and he laughed at me. It was cruel. It was like being stabbed with knives. I struggled. But he said: "Wait a moment! We shall meet again soon. Tell Saruman that this dainty is not for him. I will send for it at once. Do you understand? Say just that!"

Then he gloated over me. I felt like I was falling to pieces. I can't say anything else, for I do not remember anything else. The next thing I remembered was guards and people standing over me. Gandalf scolded me (as usual) and I told him everything that I just wrote.

Gandalf believed me and told me that the sphere was one of the _palantír_ , the ancient seeing-stones. Aragorn and Gandalf both agreed that although the Enemy read my mind and my thoughts, he didn't find any important information, as I probably don't know any more about the Ring's location than Sauron himself. But, it was also agreed that I am now in danger. Gandalf and I set off for Minas Tirith tonight to rally the men of Gondor and converse with the Lord Denethor, Boromir's father, also for my protection. I was heartbroken to leave Merry so suddenly, and he seemed just as shocked. However, I know it's for the best. I wonder, what will Minas Tirith be like? Will it be how Boromir described it, or will it be a war-torn city, full of death and despair? By the Shire, how I miss home.

 **March 14, 1419**

The Enemy has arrived, it seems in full force. Gandalf and I arrived at Minas Tirith five days ago now. We entered the Citadel, the great hall of the Lord Denethor. He was in grief, mourning the loss of Boromir. His broken horn had been found in Ithilien, a lush forested region of Gondor. Reminded of my own sorrow, I pitied the old man, and I gave me service to Denethor. He named me a member of the Town Guard, and I was later outfitted in mail and the emblem of Minas Tirith - the white tree. I take pride in it, as much as I can.

Gandalf and I were shown our quarters, and he rode off. I explored the city, and I met a guardsman, a tall man named Beregond. We talked of my folk, and of stories of the Men of Gondor, we even shared a nice lunch together. Beregond eventually said that he must report to the barracks, so he sent me to meet with his son, a boy named Bergil. He is one of the few children allowed to stay in Minas Tirith, after the evacuation of the women and children. Bergil was friendly enough, and after we toured the city, we watched as several small armies of Men entered the city to cheering crowds, but also murmurs of doubt and fear.

A few days later, as Beregond and I chat amidst the outer walls, we hear a deafening cry, one that I haven't heard in months - the cry of a Black Rider, a Nazgûl. Beregond looked out onto the Pelennor Fields. As I, admittedly, cowered in fear, Beregond desperately tried to call for aid. I looked onto the fields and saw a host of horsemen being ambushed by orcs and by flying beasts, much like the one I saw in the _palantír_. A horn sounds and Beregond says that it's the horn of Faramir, Denethor's other son and Boromir's younger brother.

The horses threw their riders off their backs, and the latter try to run for the city gate, whilst being picked off by orcs and the flying beasts, which are carrying a Nazgûl each. Just as a beast descends upon Faramir, I saw what seemed to be a brilliant star from the north. It was Gandalf, on his horse, Shadowfax! The wizard raised his hand and sent a beam of light upward, right into one of the Nazgûl. It emitted a treacherous cry and all of the Nazgûl flew away. Gandalf entered Minas Tirith with Faramir on his saddle.

Faramir is escorted into Denethor's chambers, and when he awakes he looked at me in shock. To our horror and joy, we learned that Faramir had just recently spent time with Frodo and Sam, who left his camp two days prior. They were with a vile creature, obviously Gollum, who was to take them to Mordor through a tower called Cirith Ungol, which enraged Gandalf.

What followed was a debate on our next action, which I was merely a witness. The men agreed that Sauron's attack on Gondor is not related to Frodo, as he can't know about the hobbits entering his land yet, as they can't be at Cirith Ungol yet. Denethor coldy scolded Faramir for showing "cowardice" in defending Gondor's outposts, and I noticed then that Denethor obviously favored Boromir. My guesses prove true when Denethor stated that he wished that his two sons switched places, that Faramir had died and Boromir lived. He said that Boromir would have brought him a "gift", which I knew meant the Ring. Gandalf said that Boromir would have, in fact, kept the Ring for himself, which makes me wonder what Boromir really did in those woods near Rauros to scare Frodo.

Gandalf and Denethor continued to argue, and I noticed that the two men were fairly strained in their relationship with one another. Denethor claims that it was foolish to send a hobbit into Mordor, which I partially agreed, but I wished then that I could revoke my service to Gondor and give the man a piece of my mind. Denethor then said that he should be able to keep the Ring in Minas Tirith for safety, and I knew then that he had been the one to give Boromir the idea of using the Ring.

The debate ended, and I was given the chance to ask Gandalf what I had wondered since the debate began, why is Frodo and Sam with Gollum, the wretched creature who is obsessed with the ring, himself? The wizard noted that he fears Gollum's treachery, but also thinks that some good will come of his actions.

The next morning, now three days ago, Denethor sent Faramir to Osgiliath, the once great capital of Gondor, but now a battered and crumbling warzone. To my wonder, Faramir accepted the possibly suicidal mission without hesitation. Despite the old man's bitterness toward him, Faramir really loves his father. The next morning, news arrives of a possible battle for Pelennor Fields. Gandalf rode off to help defend Osgiliath. Yesterday, he returned with many wounded men. Faramir decided to remain at Pelennor, hoping to find a way execute a retreat, safely.

Soon after, a black sea of evil filled the fields. It was the armies of Mordor. In front of them, the rest of Faramir's men ride towards the White City. Denethor sends Gandalf with horsemen to cover the retreat. The white wizard uses his fire to hold the front lines of Sauron's forces of Men and Orcs at bay. But, during the ride to the gates of Minas Tirith, a poisoned arrow strikes Faramir.

The Enemy began to fire catapults of flaming missiles into the outer walls not too long ago. To our horror, we found that many of those missiles are the heads of the Men who died defending Osgiliath. It's shocking, really. All my life I've lived a sheltered existence in the Shire, thinking of evil things as ancient tales and songs, nothing more. But I'm living it, now. I've been drug into a war between good and evil. A hobbit. No one would believe me at home. Denethor believes it's all for nothing, and Rohan will not come to our aid. But if I know Aragorn, he'll scour the lands to find any army that is willing to aid us. I know Rohan will come. Merry may come with them, and I fear that he may not survive the battle. I fear I will not, as well as the rest of us. I need to go check on Faramir. Frodo and Sam may be marching into Fire, but the Fire is coming to us.

 **March 16, 1419**

Denethor, who feared the worst for his son, locked himself in the Tower with Faramir and I. The former was delirious with a fever from the arrow, and Denethor stood there cursing Gandalf, bewailing the end of his lineage, and doing everything else except helping his son's wound. With the Lord's absence, Gandalf took control of the White City's defenses, while Denethor instructs his messengers to tell everyone to abandon their posts.

Denethor's apparent madness erupts when he has Faramir carried to the Hall of Kings, where the leaders of Gondor are laid to rest. He had him laid on a table of marble and he called for wood and a torch. I desperately tried to warn his servants not to listen, to no avail. While I understand that abandoning my post would result in breaking the rule of the Tower Guard, but by then I could've cared less. I ran to find Beregond, and I sent him to the Hall of Kings to stop Denethor. Around this time, I began to hear a roaring _boom, boom_ coming from the gates. I knew it couldn't be good. After catching my breath, I frantically raced through the city, trying to find Gandalf.

Once I reached the first ring of the city, I discovered what the booming noise was. The hosts of Mordor had broken through the gates of the first ring of Minas Tirith, a feat never accomplished, as far as I know. I watched helplessly as Gandalf confronted the leader of the Nazgûl, the Witch-King of Angmar. Gandalf ordered the Witch-King to return to Mordor, to no avail. The evil creature laughed and threw back his hood. He had a crown, but there was no head! There was a crooked laughter.

"Old fool!" he said. "Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know Death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!" He raised his flaming sword, and a horn rang out.

Not just one, but a great host of horns from the north. The sound was unto the liking of the roar of a mighty earthquake. The Rohirrim, the Riders of Rohan, had arrived. With a mighty, harmonious yell, the Riders charged the hosts of Mordor. The Witch-King flew towards the Riders as I heard the first contact of battle to the north. A flash of hope appeared on my face. There was a chance of victory!

I quickly regained my senses and ran to Gandalf, panicked. I told him of Denethor's madness. While he wished to pursue the Nazgûl, he agreed to come with me to help. On the way there, the wizard lamented on Sauron's ability to spread fear and evil even in the inner circles of Minas Tirith. As we approached the Hall of Kings, we saw Beregond holding the door against two of Denethor's servants. Two servants have already been slain by the Beregond. The men cower in fear as Gandalf arrives, who seems to be a flash of white light.

Denethor opened the door, holding a sword, and Gandalf lifted his hand. This caused the Lord's sword to fly out of his grip. Gandalf calls out Denethor's madness, who responds by claiming that Faramir is already burned. Gandalf pushed him out of the way, and the two of us rush past him, finding Faramir still alive on the pyre. Despite Denethor's pleas and tears, Gandalf lifted up Faramir with amazing strength and carries him away.

Suddenly, Denethor began laughing. He pulled out a _palantír_ and claimed that he has seen black ships of the Enemy approaching, and the West is doomed. Denethor accuses Gandalf of trying to overthrow him with some Ranger (Aragorn). He lunges at Faramir, but he's halted by Beregond. Desperate and angry, Denethor lights the pyre and lunged into it with the seeing-stone, burning to death. As Gandalf, carrying Faramir, along with Beregond and I exited the Hall of Kings, it collapses in flames, Denethor's servants fleeing in the process.

Gandalf told Beregond and I that he always suspected Denethor of having a _palantír_ and that through using it he became subject to Sauron's lies. We then took Faramir to the Houses of Healing, the area in Minas Tirith where the wounded recover. On our way, I bumped into, of all folk, Merry! He was accompanying the procession carrying the bodies of King Théoden and his niece, the shield-maiden Éowyn, into the city. I later learned that Merry and Éowyn had slain the Witch-King.

As I talked to Merry, I noticed that he was limping badly. So, I helped escort him to the Houses of Healing. I was worried about my friend, and I still am. His arm was hurt when he stabbed the Witch-King. It seems that the swords that us four hobbits received back in the Barrow-Downs so long ago were forged specifically to combat the Nazgûl. Funny how things work out.

At the Houses of Healing, I was reunited with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They had left the armies of Rohan with some other Rangers to find the Paths of the Dead, which, from what information I have, held the lost spirits of Men who refused to aid in the war against Mordor three thousand years ago. Their souls were freed once they aided Aragorn, who captured the black ships of the Men allied with Mordor, and they soon ended the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

Aragorn used an herb called _kingsfoil_ to heal Merry, Faramir, and Éowyn, who was actually alive. Faramir immediately recognizes Aragorn as his king. The news of Aragorn, who was thought of as a Ranger named Elfstone, or Elessar, in Minas Tirith, and his healing powers spread through the White City like wildfire. The people were overjoyed that their king has returned at last, at the turn of the tide of the war of the ring.

Today it was announced after a long debate that Prince Imrahil will be the interim as Steward of Gondor, and that all the armies of Men available will march on the Black Gate of Mordor. As nervous as I am, I know that I must finish what I started, and represent the hobbits of Middle-Earth in this battle. Gandalf told me that this battle will divert Sauron's Eye from his lands as long as possible, as Sauron will believe that Aragorn has the Ring since it's impossible to defeat the hosts of Mordor without destroying it. While Merry insists that he must go, I am personally making him stay. He's still injured, and he will remain in the Houses of Healing with Faramir and Éowyn.

We have two days to prepare, and I will spend it trying to be at peace, conversing with my companions and wandering the White City. I've come to love this place, and I am proud to be a soldier of Gondor. While in the end, if Frodo succeeds, he will be the hobbit remembered. But it matters not. I feel I have matured in the past six months, from an innocent hobbit to a soldier of Gondor, it's really amazing. Well, I shouldn't brag too much, we're not out of this yet.

 **October 28, 1419**

We left Minas Tirith on March 6, and we made camp at Osgiliath. On the second day, we were nearly ambushed by orcs, but it was stopped by Aragorn and the Captains. As we drew closer to Mordor, the heralds would sound their trumpets and declare the coming of the King of Gondor. To my quiet fright, several Black Riders, or Ringwraiths, or whatever you want to call them, would fly overhead. On the fourth day, many younger soldiers grew frightened and nervous. In pity, Aragorn dismissed them, instead of commanding them to liberate Cair Andros, an island on the Anduin. However, many decide to stay.

On the sixth day, surrounded by filth and mud, we came upon Morannon, the Black Gate of Mordor. The army is arranged upon two great hills. A small envoy of riders, which were Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Imrahil, Éomer (Éowyn's brother, and new King of Rohan), Elrond's sons, and I rode to the Gate to discuss the terms with the Enemy. It's safe to say I was shaking in my boots, but I managed to at least look fearless.

Silence took us, until finally, the mighty Gates opened, and out rode the Lieutenant of the Dark Tower, clad in black, accompanied by black-clad soldiers. Even though the Lieutenant was a man, of sorts, his face, well, it was horrific. It was like a skull with burns of fire in his eye sockets and nostrils. He mocked us, laughed at us. Gandalf responded boldly. In return, the Lieutenant pulled out a coat of _mithril_ , the hardest metal in Middle-Earth, as well as a small hobbit sword, and a grey cloak of Lórien. These belonged to Frodo and Sam.

Amidst my tears, the Lieutenant said that Sauron will spare the captured hobbit spy if they agreed to the terms. The fact that he said "spy" hinted that they may not have found the Ring. I looked at Gandalf, and he held a face of defeat. He asked for the terms, and the Lieutenant said that Gondor and its allies must never attack Mordor, that Gondor must become a tributary to Mordor, and that a suitable captain must rule in Isengard over Rohan, which of course was the Lieutenant.

It appeared to me that Gandalf would accept the terms, but his eyes suddenly became like fire and his body shone brightly. He rejected the terms with utter defiance, and the Lieutenant flees behind the Black Gate in terror. As he does so, drums begin to beat, fires blaze, and the sun turned to red. A large sea of orcs, men, and trolls, much larger than ours, poured out of Morannon. The hosts of Mordor. We quickly ride back to our armies just as a group of trolls charge into my company. One pounces on Beregond, and I quickly stab it, killing it. However, before I can move, it lands on me, nearly crushing me. As I lose consciousness, I hear one final shout, "The Eagles are coming!"

I awake to bodies all around me. Gimli is staring at me, nearly crying. Suddenly, he laughs a mighty laugh and Legolas rubs my hair. Gimli had seen my foot under the troll's body, and he pulled me out. The Great Eagles of the Misty Mountains had arrived to aid us just when I was knocked out. I suddenly noticed that the lands behind the Black Gate seemed to be cracked open, swallowing itself. It's then when I hear the news of the Ring's destruction, it's the only thing that would explain our sudden victory and the destruction of Mordor. Around that time, Gandalf arrived on an Eagle, along with another one, the two carrying Frodo and Sam respectively. They were unconscious. I then proceeded to cry great tears of joy and relief.

After we left Mordor, many of us, including what was left of the Fellowship of the Ring, stayed in Ithilien to feast and celebrate. When Frodo and Sam awoke, Merry, who had come to Ithilien, and I were ecstatic. The two other hobbits were in awe of our knightly appearances, as Merry was a Rohirrim and I was a soldier of Gondor. Also, Merry and I then noticed that we were both very much taller than Frodo and Sam. Gandalf concluded that it was due to the Ent-draught we drank with Treebeard. Now the two of us are actually the tallest hobbits to live, even taller than my ancestor, the Bullroarer Took!

We soon all traveled back to Minas Tirith, and we heard the story of Frodo and Sam's journey to Mordor. They had tamed Gollum, who promised to lead them to Mordor. They crossed the Dead Marshes and made it to Morannon, where Gollum promised them an alternate way to Mordor. Soon they crossed into Ithilien, where they stayed with Faramir, who warned them of Gollum's treachery. Afterward, they passed the evil city of Minas Morgul and into a cave, where Gollum led them into an ambush of a giant spider named Shelob. She stabbed Frodo, and Sam, assuming him dead, took the Ring and his sword, Sting. Soon orcs came and took Frodo's body, declaring him still alive. Sam infiltrated their tower of Cirith Ungol and rescued Frodo, where they then made the long journey through the Plains of Gorgoroth, and then to Mount Doom. Before they entered the inside of the mountain, Gollum attacked suddenly, and amid the ensuing struggle, which resulted in Frodo losing a finger, Gollum fell into the fires of the mountain with the Ring, destroying it.

Today we had Aragorn's coronation. It was amazing, really, to see Strider the Ranger go from Aragorn to King Elessar. He seemed to be a different person, but still the same man we met in Bree so long ago. He named Faramir Steward of Gondor.

Elrond arrived a few weeks later, and Aragorn married his daughter, Arwen. It was beautiful. Also to arrive were Celeborn and Galadriel. Aragorn planted a new tree in front of the Citadel, representing the dawn of the Fourth Age (Though it is still 1419 in Shire Reckoning). Minas Tirith slowly began to thrive again.

Soon all of us hobbits, especially Frodo, grew weary and homesick and wished to go back to the Shire. A traveling party, including the four hobbits, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn, Elrond, and his sons, and Galadriel and Celeborn set out from Minas Tirith in late summer. We first headed to Rohan to hold the funeral for Théoden and feasted in the halls of Edoras. After that, we headed for Isengard. Treebeard was glad to see us and hear our tales. Around this time, Legolas and Gimli left our company to explore the forests and caves of Middle-Earth together, much to our sadness. The Fellowship was beginning to dissipate. Treebeard admitted that he had let Saruman go, due to Saruman using the only magic he had left, persuasion. His tongue was still like silver. We bade farewell to our Ent friends, and soon we come upon a ragged old man, Saruman!

With the old man, now a beggar was Wormtongue. He is bitter towards us and rebukes Gandalf. The white wizard and Galadriel both offer him mercy and reprieve, to which Saruman rejects coldy. He is irritated by the kindness of his former friends. How sad. His only request was for some tobacco, and I couldn't help but give him my pouch, as I felt pity. He greedily accepted it, and his last comment really unsettled us hobbits. He mentioned that the Shire wouldn't be the same as we left it, so we wished to hurry onwards.

A few days more of traveling and Celeborn and Galadriel bade us farewell. They turned eastwards towards Lórien. I was reluctant to see them go, we all were. But, we continued to press onwards. Soon, however, Aragorn and his riders said that it was their time to head back to Gondor. We all shared a tearful goodbye, although I know Merry and I will return to the kingdoms of Man. Aragorn knighted me and told me that he will call me to his service when I am needed. I felt so honored and proud, I could burst! As the Dunédain rode off over a hill, he looked back and shone his Elfstone to us. Aragorn.

After much more days of uneventful travel, we arrived back at the beautiful haven of Rivendell. For a fortnight we've lingered, meeting with Mr. Bilbo once again, and celebrating his 129th birthday. He's two years away from surpassing the Old Took himself! Bilbo seemed to not listen very much as we told our tales, he's too old to stay awake very long anyways. He gave Frodo three books of lore, entitled _Translations from the Elvish_ , and he told him to finish editing them. Before we left with Gandalf to begin our final sprint home, Elrond pulled us hobbits aside, telling us that in time he will come to the Shire with Bilbo.

On October 6, the one-year anniversary of Frodo's stabbing at Weathertop, my cousin began to feel the pain return to his shoulder. Gandalf seemed troubled by this, but Frodo began to feel better soon. We arrived at Bree today, and we seemed to all be having flashbacks, as it hasn't seemed that long ago that our ragtag group of hobbits left this town with Strider, or Aragorn, or should I say Elessar?

We've seemed to have scared many locals, with us wearing armor and carrying weapons and such. Merry is outfitted in the gear of the Rohirrim, and I am wearing the armor and clothes of a Knight of Gondor. We entered _The_ _Prancing Pony_ earlier this evening, and were welcomed with open arms by none other than Barliman Butterbur, the innkeeper! It was nice to see the fat man again. We tell Butterbur that the roads will be safe now that Sauron is defeated, and a king is sitting on Gondor's throne. Gandalf adds that the king is none other than Strider, which astonishes the innkeeper, much to our humor. We leave for the Shire on the 30th, and I can already see _The Green Dragon_ 's sign.

 **November 3, 1419**

As we approach the Shire, we have to, sadly, say farewell to Gandalf. He recalls what Saruman said about the Shire, and said that it is up to us to fix whatever has been wronged. He mentions that he is going to go visit Tom Bombadil, and with that he is gone. Nervous, but curious, we continue on, eventually crossing the border to our homeland, finally.

We find that the Brandywine Bridge is being guarded and blocked off with a spiked gate. The gatekeeper, obviously frightened by our appearance and our sudden return from "death", says that by orders of the Chief in Bag End, no one can cross the bridge at night. Frodo guesses that it's old Lotho Sackville-Baggins, his greedy relative. We cross the bridge anyway, and after staying at one of the grimy brick buildings that have been built in our Shire, we leave for Hobbiton, angry and suspicious. What has become of the Shire?

In the village of Frogmorton, we are stopped and arrested by several Hobbit Shirriffs. However, we laugh and make it clear that we go where we wish, and it happens to be where they were taking us anyway, Bag End. At the porch of an inn in Bywater, we find a half-dozen Men, scoundrels, and vagabonds. They said they don't answer to Lotho, but to "Sharkey". One of the Men threatens Frodo when he calls them out on their wrongdoings and mentions the fall of Sauron and rise of Aragorn. It's too much for me, as my eyes go back to the battles I've witnessed, and I draw my sword, the other two hobbits following my lead. We scare off the Men, but we know more is to come.

Sam runs to find Farmer Cotton, and the farmer's sons and he gather the village to fight. Merry rides to rouse the hobbits of Buckland while I ride to Tookland to gather my kin. It wasn't very hard to convince them, seeing their little Pippin riding in wearing armor like a warrior. Plus the Took's are natural adventurers and have a fire in their heart. It must be why I survived all I did.

The next morning, we arrive back in Bywater, finding that the hobbits had killed and captured many Men the night before. We prepare the village for battle, setting up archers and a barricade on the road. As the company of Men approach, we begin fighting. They try to break through the barricade, and we charge them. Merry single-handedly kills their leader, and the rest soon back off. In less than an hour, the Battle of Bywater is fought, which is the first battle in the Shire since the Battle of Greenfields.

After a short rest, Frodo leads an envoy to his old home, the famous Bag End. As we approach Hobbiton, we see that the village has been turned into a grey, grim, town of industry and factories. Amidst our cries and tears, we arrive at Bag End. We expected to confront Lotho, but to our surprise, standing there was - Saruman! Saruman is actually Sharkey, and he declares a curse upon the Shire if a hobbit harms him. Frodo assures us that he has no power, yet he stops us from attacking. I believe in mercy, but this man has done so much wrong, why should he be free to spread more mischief?

Frodo tells him to leave the Shire and never return, and as Saruman passes him he pulls a knife and stabs the hobbit! His _mithril_ blocks it, and still Frodo stops us from ending the ex-wizard's miserable life! Frodo asks about Lotho, and Saruman says that Wormtongue killed him in his sleep. Wormtongue says that Saruman made him, and Frodo tries to convince him to leave Saruman's service. Saruman kicks his slave and lashes at him with demeaning words. Enraged, Wormtongue draws a blade and slits the old man's throat! As he runs away, yelling, he is struck down by hobbit archers. As we stare at Saruman's corpse, a grey mist rises from it and fades away. What it was, not even Frodo could say.

It doesn't really matter now. We have a Shire to fix!

 **September 22, 1421**

In the two years since our return, the Shire has prospered. We've rebuilt the homes and Sam used his soil from Lórien to plant the trees again, and they've grown quickly. Merry and I have traveled our country, telling tales of war and battle, being renown as tall and somewhat queer heroes. Frodo quietly retires to Bag End, spending his days taking walks and writing in his books, much like his uncle once did.

In the spring of 1420, the most successful farming year in recent memory, Sam married Farmer Cotton's daughter, Rosie Cotton. It's about time, to be blunt. He has eyed her for years! I'm proud of our Sam. Without him, we might not be here today. He got Frodo through the journey, I know it. Who knows, maybe Mr. Gamgee will run for Mayor! Maybe Merry will be Master of Buckland, and I Thain of the Shire! It's definitely possible, and I'd like that a lot.

Sam and Frodo left for Rivendell a few weeks ago, but they were surprised to see Elrond and Bilbo in the woods of the Shire, along with Galadriel, the two elves wearing their Rings of Power. Frodo explained to Sam that he is going to the Grey Havens with them and taking a ship to the Undying Lands, so he may be at peace again. Of course, Merry and I already knew of this.

We rode to the Havens to meet with the others, and we were delighted to see Gandalf there as well. Frodo said goodbye, as well as Gandalf, and with that, they were on the ship and gone. Just like that. It was like losing a piece of yourself. But, I'm not the naive hobbit I once was. I know that this is for the best, and I will live my life as Frodo would intend. Merry, Sam and I dried our tears and turned away, putting the Fellowship of the Ring behind us.


End file.
